


The Ties that Bind

by InkedConstellations



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Allen and Kanda are sort of friends sort of more than friends, Alma is just in the way, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkedConstellations/pseuds/InkedConstellations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a way, they were perfect for each other. Both were falling apart, just in different ways.</p>
<p>A Yullen oneshot. Some spoilers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ties that Bind

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place right after Allen has used the Ark to send Kanda to Mater with Alma, and has been locked up. I was nervous writing this one, since it's been a while, but the inspiration came out of nowhere at 4 in the morning. I hope you liked it.  
> Unedited.

Allen wasn't surprised when he began to cough blood. He'd felt it in his bones, far before this mess with Alma started. Far before he'd seen Kanda's panicked face and understood the true horror of the black tattoo staining his shoulder. The funny thing was, Allen knew Kanda would regret stabbing him, would feel sick at how his anger and frustration had controlled him. Even behind Alma's hair and the pain in his stomach, Allen could see the gratitude in Kanda's eyes. And the funny thing was, the funny thing, wasn't how Allen knew Kanda would feel, but the fact it didn't change anything.

He had already been falling apart.

The Noah was ripping him apart from the inside, fighting with his innocence and his curse and his humanity until Allen wasn't sure who he was anymore. He had been losing his mind for months, and his slipping control was far more frightening than the blood on his fingers. For weeks he'd been struggling to keep the pain hidden, and for the most part it had worked. Allen had been built, by Cross and Mana and himself, to have a million different smiles. A million different masks. It was just a matter of finding the right one. In a way, being alone like this in his cell was a blessing. It meant he could spend less energy pretending to be okay and more on attempting to fix himself. Because it wasn't just his mind that was confused, Allen's body was tearing itself apart at the seams and all he could do was smile through it.

At first, he had struggled with controlling the Noah, internally twitched at every distraction, cursed every slip in concentration. It had taken Mugen in his stomach to bring the beast out fully, and suddenly it was easy to separate himself for the Noah because he _was_ the Noah. Allen imagined it as a glass pane inside his mind, a window separating 'the 14th' from 'Allen Walker'. But being trapped didn't mean the Noah couldn't still watch Allen. It was only temporary, of course. He could already feels the cracks in his control, already feel himself slipping as his Innocence attacked him and kept him alive at the same time.

Allen's breath caught between his teeth, suddenly blocked by the tightness in his throat and a drowning sensation in his lungs. He curled in on himself, shoulders shaking as coughs wracked his body. He was getting thinner every day. Allen was hungry for so much more than food, but couldn't explain it. He couldn't explain anything anymore, least of all the blood on his fingers.

It was like he'd never seen the color red before, the way he stared. Even though the scar on his face and the ribbon he tied around his neck with shaking fingers every morning were red, the twisted flesh of his left arm the crusty dark red and maroon of dried blood, Allen would have sworn he'd never seen a brighter crimson than that dripping from between his fingers. Even though he'd been struggling for months to keep his body under control, to ignore the headaches and the way his was no longer the only reflection in the mirror, the blood on his lips now was like a confirmation. He could never go back now. It didn't matter how many scars crossed his skin, he'd always be more messed up on the inside. After all, he was the type to hide his troubles. Too many years made it habit, and it was finally catching up.

Allen suddenly realized he didn't care much if he died. He should probably stay alive though, if only to watch himself deteriorate. It was like a game--Let's see how long Allen Walker can fall apart, before someone notices and tries to put him back together? For a while, Allen had been certain Kanda knew, but the black-haired swordsmen never acted an differently. He could be depended on for that, unchanging, even when confused or panicked. Allen felt a certain admiration for that control, over both emotion and death. Timcampy had been right, he was morbid. Loving everyone, both Akuma and human, Exorcist and Noah, did that to you sometimes. Although Tim swore Allen had always been that way. Allen didn't remember.

What a picture he must make. Allen choked out a laugh, sprawling on the floor of his cell with his arms and legs spread wide. Gray cinder blocks beneath red-stained black clothes beneath pale skin. Red scar on white face with white hair. Wrapped in no-longer white bandages. He was like a poster boy for ruined innocence. And not the kind with a capital 'i'. Allen sighed and closed his eyes, covering his face with his right hand. He was tired, from his toes to his soul, if he even had such a thing anymore. Allen ignored the pain. He had always been good at ignoring things that weren't important, and really, the fact that he was dying in this cell didn't make it on his list.

He wondered if Kanda was alright.

~~~~~~~~~~

Alma was dead.

It was the only thing running through Kanda's mind. A broken record on repeat. Alma was dead. _Alma was dead._ He had died in Kanda's arms, mere moments after escaping Central and Kanda was still shaking with the horror of it, still trying to wrap his head around what exactly they had done, _what have they done to you_ when it was suddenly over. And Kanda was left alone with the stitched up body of the man with the soul of the woman he loved, for once not trying to keep his face blank.

He cried easily, now. He cried for the failed Second Exorcists, he cried for Alma and the pain he _she_ must have felt, he cried for the stupid look of happiness on Allen Walker's face as Mugen plunged into his stomach, as he released the Noah, but Kanda refused to cry for himself. He knew he didn't deserve it, when this whole mess was his fault. If he hadn't crawled out of the vat, hadn't tried to stop Alma, this never would have happened. Or, farther back. As an Exorcist, he should have known better than to make a stupid promise to come back to her. That promise was the only reason the Second Exorcist program succeeded. The only reason there were Third Exorcists.

Kanda was pretty good at blaming people. But he'd never thought he would blame himself. And when the tears were through, the raven-haired man just found himself too exhausted to think. He buried Alma mechanically, at the place where he and Allen first 'saw' one another. He felt nothing, and wondered if somewhere, his perfect body was broken. He found a job, one that didn't require a lot of speaking. Mostly heavy labor. It took him three tries to hold a job, mostly because of his harsh tongue. And he slowly made his way back towards Headquarters.

At night, pulling glossy black hair from it's ponytail and running fingers over his tattoo, Kanda glared at the porcelain skin of his arms. Sometimes he hated the fact that his body couldn't scar. All these years of fighting, the other Exorcists held maps on their bodies, a web of scar tissue and stories. History Kanda now felt robbed of. The only scar he had was the puckered skin of a black 'Om' on his shoulder and the mess inside his head. Like he hadn't even existed since he died the first time.

Kanda thought of many things on his way north. Mostly, he thought of what had happened to place him in Mater with Alma's corpse, and those precious last few minutes with Alma. He skipped over the mental breakdown. The more he thought, however, the angrier he became. For a little while, the anger surprised him, spreading white-hot through his chest. At first, it's painful heat was mistaken for hatred, hatred for Central and it's machines and ulterior motives. It took Kanda a few weeks to realize his hatred was anger, directed not at Central but at that stupid Allen Walker.

Stupid for jumping in to help Kanda. Stupid for opening a door in the Ark. Stupid for throwing up a fake smile like he always did and forgiving Kanda for everything, like he was some sort of martyr, like it didn't matter if he died. Stupid for making Kanda owe him. Kanda had known, he had known Allen was falling apart, because if he admitted it, and Kanda had a hard time admitting it, he watched the idiot Beansprout closer than anyone else. He noticed how Allen ate a little less every day, how sometimes he would pause in the hallways and lean against the wall, fingers clenched to his temple and his stomach in an effort to keep from hurling. The white-haired boy was more fragile than people believed, but he always thought he hid it so well. A little clown without a care.

But at the same time Kanda had told himself these things didn't matter. He still noticed, and was irritated twice over by the Beansprout's nonchalance. That mask was the reason Kanda always hated him. The way Allen hid himself behind so many layers even Kanda got confused. So he marched north, back towards Headquarters, back towards Innocence, towards that stupid Beansprout who'd risked everything to help him. He was probably hiding how bad he was, so people wouldn't worry. The idiot.

And even though he cursed himself every time his thoughts wandered to a certain white-haired Exorcist, Kanda hoped Allen was okay.


End file.
